Okay.

Two hours ago, I have just stepped out of the theatre with my body telling me I was on the onset of a panic attack, while my heart was aggressively soothing its corpse that struggled to relax. 

I'm one to be overwhelmingly evoked by visuals, though ironically, more often than not, I end up preferring the book rather than the movie version. This time was no different, yet the film still gave me a much more overwhelming emotion, having experienced the story with my own two eyes. 

Often I thought K, and J. And how it would've been for them to see their loved ones grieve around their illness. How it would've been like to end a sentence in the middle; finishing a thought, just like that. How it would've been like for me, if I have had the chance to be there with them in their last days, hours, minutes, seconds. How it would've/have been like for those who have also received that similar 2am call. Did they answer the phone? Or did they leave the phone ringing, already having the epiphany of having lost somebody. 

The difference between Hazel and I? I answered the phone. And only a part of me knew. I held on to at least the smallest hope, and I allowed myself to doubt the 99% probability of his passing. 

The hope never left, and that I know for sure. There wouldn't have been pain if that smudge of hope didn't exist. There wouldn't have been individuals like K or J that lives/have lived. There wouldn't exist a John Green, nor a Hazel Lancaster, nor an Augustus Waters, nor the world of nerdfighteria, nor the hundreds of tissue boxes floating around the theatre tonight. 

For a long time, I needed to give myself something that I can say I've learned from pain and its inevitable nature. And finally, I decided it was to live for these little aforementioned hopes. It is as simple and as complex as you'd like for it to be; my definition of that sentence will be different than others'. So I will leave it as that. Ceci nest pas use pipe. Okay?!

Like Gus, I'm overly conscious about the things I write down in paper/type, as if these were to be written in stone. For that reason, I rarely type things down here, especially here, for the world to see and absorb my very thoughts that lurk in the light and the darkest parts of my head. But this whole thing {the movie, the novel, the author, the story, the everything} was (IS) something that is like none other and very, very close to my four beating chambers, and I cannot pass an opportunity to share it with you. 

Let this be equivalent to a thank you post-it note for everyone involved with this novel, and all of its awesomeness. Know that the tears shed in the experience were not taken for granted, and yes, they were very well worth it. Okay? Okay